


In The Midst of Despair

by Alexgrace927



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Post Reichenbach, Reunion, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-27 10:36:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexgrace927/pseuds/Alexgrace927
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Might be smut in later chapters</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Might be smut in later chapters

John Watson knew he couldn't last forever without Sherlock Holmes in his life.Yes, John Is an incredibly strong man but Sherlock Holmes is his life. It doesn't matter to him If Sherlock is dead or alive, he will always be John's everything. He never leaves his thoughts, not for a second. Everything John does reminds him of Sherlock, whether It's reading a book or hailing a cab, It doesn't matter. Sherlock haunts him day and night, especially at night. John abruptly wakes up every evening, sweaty and frantic. He's dreaming of Sherlock, John sees him fall to his death, he sees that blood splattered sidewalk and his friends lifeless body just like it were yesterday. 

Everyday John grows weaker, physically and mentally. His muscles have deteriorated from lack of exercise and nutrition. He is the depths of depression and does not see any hope for himself, he can't find anything that could fill the hole in his heart as his beloved Sherlock had. Nothing could compare to him. He didn't just miss the danger from being alongside Sherlock Holmes, he missed every aspect of being a part of Sherlock's life. John loved everything about their relationship, the way they can communicate with just a look, the way they playfully call each other idiots from time to time, the way Sherlock pouted like a child when he didn't get his way. Of course Sherlock was a mad man and did have his flaws, but John loved him regardless. He just wished he wouldn't have left so many things unsaid.

Everything in the flat was the same, as If Sherlock still lived there. All his books and science equipment still lie there, perfectly clean. John made sure to not let any of his dead friends possessions collect dust. John liked to pretend Sherlock still resided in 221b, he would talk to him occasionally, never receiving a reply. He liked to imagine what Sherlock would say back to him. John missed hearing his voice, that beautiful baritone spewing out all of those brilliant deductions, and snide remarks to those who thought they could outwit the great Sherlock Holmes.

John knew he wouldn't be able to make it for very much longer. His despair was continually getting the best of him. John's gun had been confiscated by Mycroft soon after Sherlock's death to prevent John from doing away with himself. But John had been saving up his anti-depressant medication for months. He stopped taking the lexapro a month after it was prescribed, coming to find that they didn't work and caused nasty withdrawal symptoms. But he came to the realization that If he saved them up for a certain period of time, he could kill himself when the time was right and be with Sherlock once more. If in fact there was an afterlife.

John had decided the deed had to be done soon. He wrote up a will, which surely caught Mycroft's attention, as did his depressing blog entries. Even after two and a half years Mycroft still kept surveillance on John. Regardless of what John thought, Mycroft truly cares for him, even if the feelings aren't mutual. But Mycroft also noticed that John was getting worse and worse everyday.

 

Time is running out, dear brother. MH

 

He will be fine Mycroft, he was a soldier. SH

 

Are you so sure of that? I have full surveillance on him. He talks to you, you know. MH

 

I fear he may do something self destructive. MH


	2. Chapter 2

John awoke that morning shaking with tears streaming down his cheeks. In his vagary, he could see Sherlock falling. He saw himself rushing over to the spot where Sherlock lie, lifeless and hematic. His fragile frame sprawled across the pavement, no longer sustaining that beautifully intricate and equally bemusing brain. To John, Sherlock Holmes only existed in his mind now, a mere ghost wandering around 221b silently and unknowingly to everyone but John. Just the thought of Sherlock could send John into a bout of unwanted but far too familiar emotions. He dropped to his knees, breathing quickly and heavily trying his hardest to push this fit away. It is beyond John why he even makes an attempt to alleviate himself, he never succeeds and truly believes he never will. This is why John knows he must take his own life, because his pain is unbearable and after many ruminations he has come to the conclusion he must do this to rid himself of his own despair.

He picked himself off of the floor, stumbling before regaining his equilibrium. After several deep breaths John hesitantly trudged over to the side of his bed and opened his nightstand. Inside were several bottles of anti-depressants, unequivocally enough to overdose painlessly and peacefully. He languidly opened his bottle of Lexapro, staring at the pills for a brief moment before popping them in his mouth.

John laid on his bed, closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Beforehand he had made certain Mrs. Hudson would be out of the flat to avoid any interruption. John did not feel any morbid feelings as he slowly reached his demise, the only thing he was thinking about was seeing Sherlock again, he was convinced he would see him on the other side and at that was certainly all he cared about. Little did John know, Sherlock would not be there waiting for him.

Sherlock knew it was tremendous risk returning to the flat before Moriarty's web was completely destroyed and Sebastian Moran was eliminated, but this was John and he was quite confident in his secrecy. He couldn't bare another day without making sure John was still alive. Sherlock would never proclaim to Mycroft that it had been eating him alive.

Sherlock reached the doorstep of his old home and pulled out his key. The door opened silently and he started up the stairs making sure not to step on the creaky one. Sherlock took his first steps in 221b after over two years. He felt uneasy and nervous but ignored the vehemence of his overloaded emotions and continued on through the flat. It was dark and cold and not very well maintained, but Sherlock's possessions were still there. He headed for John's room, knowing already he would be there.

As he approached John's open door he could see that he was laying on his bed, this did not alarm Sherlock until he noticed the shallowness of John's breathing and the depleted pill bottle resting on the floor.


End file.
